


All the Light That You Possess

by samyazaz



Series: The Subtle Grace of Gravity [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samyazaz/pseuds/samyazaz
Summary: "We could get up," he says softly, and that's a question, too. "We could go for a walk while the sun's still up.""We could," Enjolras agrees. It's a tempting offer. But it's been so very long since they've been able to do anything but crash into this bed together and immediately fall into exhausted oblivion. And Grantaire is here and warm and smiling at him, a closer and greater temptation than the lure of a walk and the prospect of solitude and empty horizons all around them.He leaves the 'or' unvoiced, unneeded, implied in the way he tilts his head to match Grantaire's and kisses him in turn, no deeper than the first but this one lingering, offering.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Today is a rough day for a lot of us, but **lady_ragnell** and I wanted to try to put some love and some light back into the world, or at the very least offer a distraction to those who need it.

The task of turning their new home into an actual home, of tilling fields and constructing buildings and making a community, is long, hard work that leaves them exhausted by the end of the day, with scarcely enough energy to stagger to bed and fall into it together, until dawn brings a new day and they drag themselves from bed and start all over again.

And so it's several days after their walk out to the cliff's edge, several days since Grantaire threw Feuilly's pendant off the edge to shatter on the ground below, before they find themselves with an afternoon to themselves.

They share little more than a glance before they decide, almost as one, to start it with a nap, a few glorious hours to tangle up together in bed before they've reached the point of being bone-weary, to murmur lazy conversation to one another before they drift off serene in the knowledge that they can sleep as long as they like and answer to no one.

Enjolras wakes to warm, buttery light sliding through the window and filling the bedroom of their little home, gloriously ignorant of what time it might be or how long he had slept.

He blinks his eyes open to the light and allows himself to indulge in being able to linger in bed, to not have to immediately throw himself at the next job that needs doing. Grantaire is there as a warmth at his side, the weight of an arm thrown across his chest and his legs a comforting tangle with Enjolras's. His breathing is still slow and even, unbroken. Enjolras turns his head and looks at him there beside him for a moment, his eyes still shut with sleep, his face relaxed with it and at peace in it.

It still sometimes gives him a jolt, to glance toward Grantaire and find him looking back at him from this face that's so similar to the one Enjolras had come to know, yet not the same. A jolt of surprise, and then the warm rush of happiness at all they've done, at how far they've come. Those days back in the Void, with Grantaire cowering and terrified and chained, desperately afraid of hurting someone, seem like a lifetime ago. Back then, it had seemed a nearly-impossible victory just to convince Grantaire to trust Feuilly's projection at all.

And now the projection is gone and Grantaire is lying at Enjolras's side, serene and unafraid in his own skin, and there is solid ground beneath them and sunshine pouring through a window and a community creating itself outside, and Enjolras's heart feels as though it's going to burst with joy at all they've accomplished.

"Are you watching me sleep?" Grantaire murmurs without opening his eyes, and Enjolras jolts.

"A little," he admits. "It's a rare opportunity."

Grantaire opens his eyes, then, and smiles at Enjolras across the space between the pillows. "I have it on good authority that that is considered creepy."

A bubble of joyous, carefree laughter works its way up out of Enjolras. He grins and rolls toward Grantaire, close enough to bump the ends of their noses together and to lean his brow against Grantaire's. "Who told you that?"

"Someone. I can't recall. It doesn't matter." Grantaire tips his head just a little, just enough to brush his mouth against Enjolras's, tender enough to be a question. "We could get up," he says softly, and that's a question, too. "We could go for a walk while the sun's still up."

"We could," Enjolras agrees. It's a tempting offer. But it's been so very long since they've been able to do anything but crash into this bed together and immediately fall into exhausted oblivion. And Grantaire is here and warm and smiling at him, a closer and greater temptation than the lure of a walk and the prospect of solitude and empty horizons all around them.

He leaves the _or_ unvoiced, unneeded, implied in the way he tilts his head to match Grantaire's and kisses him in turn, no deeper than the first but this one lingering, offering.

Grantaire sighs against his mouth, a hazy, contented sound, and very gently catches Enjolras's lip between his teeth. He scrapes it lightly between them, just the hint of pressure, just enough to make a shiver roll down Enjolras's spine.

He curls a hand around the back of Grantaire's neck, thumb stroking lazy sweeps along the edge of his jaw, and urges him into a kiss that's a little deeper, that answers all they questions they've posed to one another without any need for words.

Grantaire's lips curve, a smile so brilliant that Enjolras has to break away to witness it. It's brighter than the afternoon sunlight slanting through their room, warmer than it. Enjolras tangles his fingers in the curls of hair and wire at Grantaire's nape and tugs just a little, to see the way it makes the corners of Grantaire's eyes crease with a deepening smile, and the way he hums and leans in, a hand braced on Enjolras's thigh, and kisses him again, this time with just a teasing hint of tongue.

It's the first time they've had the opportunity to do this since Grantaire cast away his projection, and Enjolras doesn't dare look away, not for an instant. Not even when Grantaire is kissing him, so close that Enjolras's eyes can't focus and he's little more than a blur of brown and gold filling up the entirety of Enjolras's vision.

Grantaire's almost playful with his kisses, darting in for one and then another, grazing his tongue over the dip in Enjolras's upper lip, over the corner of his mouth. He leans in like he's going to kiss Enjolras again, but then turns his head aside at the last minute and skims his lips along his cheek and bites gently at his earlobe. When Enjolras breathes a faint, appreciative oath into the air between them, Grantaire's lips curve against his skin and he gives a low laugh like he's pleased with himself, like he's pleased with them both.

Enjolras fits his hands to Grantaire's waist, sliding his fingers against the warm stripe of skin there beneath the hem of his sleep shirt. From there, it doesn't take much, just a subtle shift of his weight, the slightest pressure, to urge Grantaire down onto his back beneath him, the sunlight burnishing gold across his face and his hair a glorious mess across the pillows.

He looks up at Enjolras, and the smile is mostly faded from his face but his eyes are still creased with it, still warm with it. His hands are on Enjolras's arms, curled loosely there like he's holding on to him, as though there's any possibility Enjolras could want to be anywhere but here.

"What do you want?" Grantaire asks softly, his eyes sparking bright up at him.

 _So many things_ , Enjolras thinks, and his heart swells with the knowledge that they're going to have the time to explore every possibility, eventually. But for now, with Grantaire there laid out beneath him, pressing warm against him, there's really only one answer he can give. "I want to see you."

Grantaire's expression goes soft and tender, like he knows Enjolras chose his words carefully, like he understands that when Enjolras said _see_ and not _watch_ , it was a deliberate choice. A meaningful one. "Okay," he says, and suddenly he's breathless.

Enjolras spreads his hands low across Grantaire’s stomach and for a moment is content to just stroke his fingers there across his warm skin. Grantaire’s breathing hitches and his eyes go heavy-lidded, and Enjolras watches as every caress is reflected across his face.

When Enjolras pushes the hem of his shirt up, baring his stomach and stroking up across his abdomen, the muscles tighten beneath his fingers and Grantaire twists, pulling at his shirt and trying to wrestle it up over his head. Enjolras moves back to allow him the space he needs to do so, and settles his hands on his hips instead of his sides.

Once it's off, Grantaire tosses the shirt in the general direction of the laundry bin, misses completely and doesn't even seem to notice, much less mind. He sinks back into the bed and curls his hands around Enjolras's arms again, stroking them up to his shoulders and back down to brush against the backs of Enjolras's hands, where he has them fit around Grantaire's hipbones.

He's laid bare to Enjolras's gaze all the way down to his hips, where the waist of his sleep pants are riding low and twisted from sleep. The skin of his face and arms has grown a darker brown over the months they've been planetside, bronzed beneath the warming rays of the sun as they all worked together to establish their new home, but here on his chest it's the same, rich shade of brown that Enjolras first knew. The lines of circuitry that trace across his skin make their paths here, to, long reaching tendrils of them curling over his sides and stretching toward his middle the way tender green shoots stretch from the ground and reach for the sun overhead. Enjolras traces them with his fingertips, a feather touch. He's done this before, often enough to memorize the paths that the circuitry makes across Grantaire's skin, but the projection is gone now and these patterns are still new to him, and mostly unfamiliar.

The way that Grantaire's skin jumps and shivers beneath his touch is just the same as it's ever been, though. Enjolras traces a complicated pattern that meanders across Grantaire's ribs and along the flat plane of his belly, and watches Grantaire's face all the while.

There's a flush on his face that Enjolras has come to recognize, turning his complexion even darker across his cheeks and down his throat. His lips are parted slightly as though Enjolras has caught him in the middle of a gasp, and his breathing comes heavily enough that his chest rises and falls rapidly beneath Enjolras's touch. When his fingers find the soft skin across Grantaire's ribs, Grantaire sucks air through his teeth and then bites down hard on his lip. The muscles of his stomach shudder beneath Enjolras's hand, a seismic tremor.

Enjolras hesitates, leaves his fingers there, pressing lightly but unmoving. "Is it too much?" There's a fine line, for Grantaire, between a caressing touch and a tickling one, and the day that Enjolras discovered that he could make Grantaire break out into helpless peals of laughter with little more than the pressure of his fingertips against his sides had been a glorious one, and he'd explored every inch of Grantaire's skin until he'd found every ticklish place on him and Grantaire was breathless and exhausted beneath him, his face bright and his cheeks wet with tears of laughter. It had been so good to hear him laugh, and to see him joyous.

But that's not what either of them are after now, and so he stops, and he asks. And Grantaire's face shines bright and loving up at him as he shakes his head and releases his captured lip from between his teeth to say, "Don't stop. Please don't."

Enjolras leans over him, moving the hand on his hip up to brace on the mattress, and kisses him again. It's slow and soft but there's nothing light about it this time. Grantaire slides his hands up Enjolras's arms again, then across his shoulders to lock around the back of neck, pulling him into the kiss, and his mouth is open and slick and wanting against Enjolras's. And Enjolras keeps his eyes open through all of it, so he can see every flicker of desire across Grantaire's face, every crease of his brow and flutter of his lashes against his cheeks. And when Enjolras eventually draws away, breaking the kiss but staying there stretched over him, above him, Grantaire stays just as he is for a moment, and runs the tip of his tongue across his lips like he's still savoring the taste of the kiss and the memory of Enjolras's mouth. And when he blinks his eyes open, he looks up at Enjolras, looks back at him, and Enjolras is the one left breathless by it all.

"I love you," Enjolras says, a breath of sound, so he can see the way the words impact on this new, familiar face.

Grantaire blinks rapidly at him, like he's somehow still capable of being surprised by it, and the flush across his cheeks deepens, and then a smile breaks across his face like sunrise. "Didn't you say something to me once about how easy those words are to mean in the throes of passion?" There's laughter in his voice, bright and joyous, and it lights him up from within. "Something about _drowning in endorphins_?"

"You told me to say it when it was true."

Grantaire's grin turn to a smile, so loving and so warm that Enjolras can scarcely breathe. The golden lines of circuitry across his cheeks and the break in his nose and the fullness of his jaw may be different, but _that_ \-- that is exactly the same. It's Grantaire, through and through, and Enjolras can't help but lean in for another long, intoxicating kiss.

It's Grantaire who starts twisting beneath him, whose knuckles bump against Enjolras's stomach. And when he draws back and looks down to see what he's doing, Grantaire already has the ties of his pants undone and pushed even further down his hips. He takes advantage of Enjolras's movement to brace a hand on his shoulder and push him back even farther, just enough that he can free his legs out from underneath him and wriggle out of his pants entirely.

Enjolras comes back to him, drawn inexorably by all that skin. Grantaire leans back again but stays braced up with his elbows behind him, watching Enjolras. His gaze is hooded again, heated. He watches Enjolras like he's trying to decide if he should eat him up all at once, or savor him slowly.

Enjolras understands the dilemma. He spreads a hand across Grantaire's stomach, bracing him, and leans down to kiss the skin between his fingers, and then to kiss his way down, following the trail of course hair down to where Grantaire is half hard for him already.

Enjolras breathes against his skin for a moment, mouthing at the soft stretch of it across his hip. Grantaire moves restlessly, shifting his weight, and lays a hand on Enjolras's shoulders. He doesn't push or pull, just keeps that point of connection between them, and when Enjolras turns his head a fraction and brushes his mouth against the growing thickness of Grantaire's erection, his fingers press sharper into Enjolras's shoulder and his breath comes quick all at once.

It's so easy to lose himself in this, in the salt on Grantaire's skin and the heat building between them. But he holds himself back when it would be so easy, instead, to let himself be swept under by the tide of desire they've both built together. He keeps his eyes open, keeps his gaze turned up to watch Grantaire's face as he takes him into his mouth and sucks him slowly, thoroughly, to hardness.

Grantaire drops abruptly off the elbow he's supporting his weight with, falling onto his back and sucking in air like he's drowning. The hand on Enjolras's shoulder grips him hard, as though he fears he'll drown if he lets him go, and the other gropes blindly across their bed until he finds a handful of blankets he can grip onto. And by the time he's fully hard and straining, the weight of him firm and heavy on Enjolras's tongue, he's thrown his head back, his face lost in abandon as he gasps raggedly at the ceiling above them.

Enjolras traces the path of a vein with the flat of his tongue, from the root of him where dark hair curls thick and wiry all the way up to the tip. Grantaire shudders against Enjolras's mouth, straining, and Enjolras laps up the first drops and then takes him deep once more.

"Stars," Grantaire breathes, a quiet oath sent up to the heavens as his body bows up beneath the hand Enjolras has on his stomach. Enjolras finds another vein to trace, teasing him with just the tip of his tongue until Grantaire is gasping loudly and fine shudders run through him. Then Enjolras leaves off with the teasing and takes him in his mouth again, takes him deep and then draws back most of the way so he can glance up and see the way his caresses echo across Grantaire's face, and then does it a second time, and a third.

He could get lost in this, in the weight of Grantaire in his mouth, the length of him, the slight strain of taking him in all the way and the burst of salt across his tongue letting him know when he does something Grantaire particularly likes. But he wants to see, and he keeps his eyes open, comes up for air when he must and looks at Grantaire when he does. He comes up once and Grantaire's eyes and mouth are both open wide, as though he's somehow shocked by how much Enjolras wants him, even now. The next, his eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed with it, his expression almost pained but belied by the smile that pulls at his lips. The third time Enjolras comes up to catch his breath, Grantaire slides a hand along his cheek and into his hair, and he's looking at him, watching him, his expression so open and wanting and vulnerable that it knocks the air right back out of Enjolras's lungs.

"What do you want?" Enjolras asks him quietly. His lungs heave as though he's been exerting himself, but this is easy. It's so easy to lose himself in Grantaire. It's his favorite place to be. "I could keep going."

It's another, quiet offer. And Grantaire considers it, catching the edge of his lip between his teeth and his gaze going thoughtful, but then he shakes his head. "Come here?" he asks, scarcely louder than a whisper.

Enjolras goes, crawling up Grantaire’s body and dropping kisses across his skin as he makes his way up. When he's stretched out above Grantaire, pressed against his warmth from chest to shins, Grantaire smiles up at him, the warmth of humor in his eyes. He slides the hand he has in Enjolras’s hair down to tug at the collar of his shirt. “You should take these off.” His hand spreads, curving around the side of Enjolras’s neck and stroking the tender skin at his nape.

Enjolras sits up, shifting so he's astride Grantaire’s hips, but stays bent forward as much as he's able so as to not have to break that contact of Grantaire’s hand on his skin, his fingers sifting through his hair. He drags at the back of his shirt until he's pulled it up around his neck, and then just as he's caught in a moment of indecision, torn between giving Grantaire what he wants and not wanting to lose that point of contact between them, Grantaire catches the gathered material of his shirt and works it off over his head for him, then slides his hand right back into Enjolras's hair like he knows Enjolras was already mourning its absence.

He's smiling up at Enjolras, stroking his other hand across Enjolras's chest and stomach. His fingers tease at Enjolras's nipple until Enjolras's breath frays and he rocks his hips against Grantaire's without thought.

"These, too," Grantaire says, his hands sliding beneath the waist of Enjolras's pants. That's easier to accomplish, because Enjolras can turn his head and brush kisses against Grantaire's wrist and preserve that link between them, while he gropes at the ties of his pants with one hand and pushes them down around his thighs.

Grantaire rolls them once he's done so, a hand on Enjolras's shoulder and a subtle shift of his weight and suddenly Enjolras is pressed to his back on the bed, Grantaire rising up over him, smiling down at him like this is everything he's ever wanted.

Enjolras presses his hips to Grantaire's as he lifts them from the bed to finish disrobing. The movement brushes his cock against Grantaire's. He's hot as a flame and as solid as iron, and Enjolras wants to luxuriate in his warmth. He wants to wrap himself up in Grantaire and never leave.

Grantaire has an eager look in his eye, though, that makes Enjolras think he already has something in mind. And there's nothing in this world or any other that Enjolras could deny him, so he sweeps his thumb in a caress across Grantaire's hip and waits to see what it is Grantaire means to do.

Grantaire looks him over slowly, a long, lingering sweep of his gaze down Enjolras's body and then back up. Enjolras watches him instead of following the path of his gaze -- watches the way his face lights up when he sees something he likes, the way it clouds over and lingers on the puckered scar on Enjolras's shoulder, before he shakes his head and casts the dark mood off and moves on with a deliberate air.

His kiss, when he leans down to place it upon Enjolras's lips, is sweet and tender and distracting enough that when Grantaire slips the hand braced across his stomach down and curls his fingers in a firm grip around Enjolras's cock, he gasps and rolls his hips against Grantaire's hand and is taken entirely by surprise.

Grantaire's lips curve on his, a little crooked, so Enjolras knows it's his mischievous, self-satisfied grin. Enjolras bites at them in silent retribution, and Grantaitre licks into his mouth, and Enjolras forgets about everything else but his kiss and his touch.

Grantaire strokes him slowly, lazily. His fingers are callused from the work they've done, his skin warm and just a little rough. He sweeps his thumb across the head of Enjolras's cock, when it gets there, and hums a contented noise in the back of his throat when it makes Enjolras whisper a fervent oath.

Enjolras half expects him to bend low and reciprocate with the warm suction of his mouth around him. But instead Grantaire shifts around, nudges at Enjolras's legs with a knee, and ends settled on his knees between Enjolras's thighs, still slowly stroking him. And the end of each stroke, he gives his wrist a wicked twist, and has Enjolras choking on his own broken obscenities.

Grantaire lays the other hand high on Enjolras's thigh. He sweeps his thumb across the crease between his stomach and leg, and it's a grounding, steadying touch, until Grantaire nudges Enjolras's knees wider and slides his hand higher and the pad of his thumb brushes a lightning caress across Enjolras's entrance.

"Oh," Enjolras breathes, in between sudden, desperate gasps. " _Oh._ This is-- Is this what you want?"

Grantaire's smile is slow and curved and as warm as a flame. Enjolras is mesmerized, unable to look away. "I want anything I can get. Everything I can have. You know I do." His smile spreads, bright as a star. "This'll do for right now."

Their first time, Enjolras had thrown an arm across his eyes, too overwhelmed by everything between them to be able to bear it. Now, there is even more between them, and it is just as staggering, just as humbling. But Enjolras keeps his eyes open and his gaze steady on Grantaire, even when he shifts and stretches across the bed to retrieve the bottle of lubricant that's sat neglected in their bedside drawer for entirely too long.

He comes back with it, flush with victory, flips the cap open with one hand and settles onto his stomach between Enjolras's legs as he upends the bottle and leaves a drizzle of it across his own fingers and Enjolras's skin. His next touch is slick and obscene, and he makes a quick start to the work of opening Enjolras up to his fingers.

Enjolras studies his face desperately as Grantaire sucks a bruise onto his thigh and works a finger into him. The first is easy; it's scarcely a moment before Grantaire's slid it deep and his knuckles are pressing into Enjolras's skin, the pad of a second finger teasing around it. And his face is bright all the while, glowing like a sun. He watches what he's doing, mostly, with an intent sort of focus. He gives a little, thoughtful hum as he presses the second finger in beside the first, and then his gaze comes up.

He catches Enjolras's eye and holds it with that same intensity. He burns like a sun as twists his fingers and works Enjolras carefully open and watches him through all of it, and Enjolras can't bear it but he can't look away, so he breathes, _"Grantaire,"_ and there's a world of meaning in those few syllables.

The corners of Grantaire's eyes crease with a pleased smile. He ducks his head down, doesn't break eye contact but presses his lips to the tender skin on the inside of Enjolras's thigh and works on leaving a second bruise beside the first.

By the time Grantaire is satisfied with how he's worked him open with two fingers, Enjolras is a gasping wreck beneath him. Grantaire pumps his fingers into him a few times and hums a satisfied sound when Enjolras takes them easily and there's nothing but slick, hedonistic pleasure. He teases Enjolras with the first, faintest pressure of a third and Enjolras moans at that, and then moans again when Grantaire shifts his weight up onto an elbow and leans in, and soothes the stretch with the lapping caress of his tongue.

"Fuck, fuck, oh stars," Enjolras breathes, and for a moment he shuts his eyes as all the sensations roll over him, like waves rolling over a shore, and he basks in it, feeling as weightless as though they were still up in the black, beyond the sky. But then Grantaire licks at him and makes a sharp, pleased sound against his skin, and Enjolras remembers himself and opens his eyes again.

It takes effort to open them, to make them focus, when all the while Grantaire is doing wicked things between his thighs and the touch of his hands and his mouth and the warm wash of his breath are like gravity, grounding him. But it's worth it, when he blinks his eyes into focus and looks down towards Grantaire, and is rewarded by the sight of his head between Enjolras's legs, the riot of dark hair, the way it falls into his face when he bends his head to his task. The way he draws back to suck air into his lungs and catch his breath, and glances up at Enjolras and catches his gaze as well, through the wild tangle of his hair.

Enjolras reaches down with one unsteady hand and cups Grantaire's cheek with it. He brushes his thumb across the slight indent on his chin, the corner of his mouth, the fullness of his lip.

The heat in Grantaire's gaze leaps higher as he catches Enjolras's thumb between his teeth and sucks it into his mouth. His tongue sweeps across it, swirls around it in an obscene imitation. Enjolras has never known a finger could be so exquisitely sensitive, could have never guessed that such a simple caress could pull a breathless moan from him, could make every inch of his skin burn with an intense need for the touch of Grantaire's against it.

Grantaire smiles at him, and scrapes the pad of his thumb with the edge of his teeth, and slides his third finger into him up to the first knuckle. Enjolras is abruptly grateful for the sharp press of Grantaire's teeth, steadying him and centering him through the burn of the stretch.

Grantaire knows his body by now, knows how to read his responses, knows when he needs to slow down and when he ought to speed up, and so it's only a few moments before the discomfort of the stretch is nothing more than a hazy memory and everything is slick and incredible again. And Grantaire holds his gaze through all of it, lets Enjolras _see_ the way he asked to, lets him witness every flicker of thought and desire and joy that passes across his face, written in the minute twitch of his brow and the curve of his lips and the tilt of his head.

"Grantaire," Enjolras breathes again, and doesn't have to say anything more because Grantaire is nodding, is scraping one last bite across Enjolras's thigh as he slides his fingers out and then crawls up over him. He drags his skin across Enjolras's as he goes, in precisely the way that Enjolras had been craving, and braces his hands on either side of Enjolras's shoulders to hold himself up so he doesn't crush Enjolras entirely. Enjolras can't quite find the breath to tell him that he wouldn't mind, that he'd welcome it. But it doesn't matter, because Grantaire drops down onto an elbow and noses up along Enjolras's jaw. He kisses the skin behind his ear, and nibbles a little, and Enjolras brings his hands up to grip his waist when he shifts his weight just so, and the solid press of his cock grazes against the abused skin of Enjolras's inner thigh.

Grantaire could tease, now, could hold himself back even as he drives Enjolras higher until Enjolras is strung out and shaking and near-incoherent with the strength of his desire. He's done it before, and Enjolras has done it in turn, both of them testing their limits and discovering just how far they can go before they break, before they beg. He could do it now and Enjolras wouldn't stop him, and the end, when it came, would be an incandescent sort of ecstasy. But that's not the sort of pleasure they're seeking in each other today, and they somehow reach an accord without ever speaking a word. It's in the glance they share, the way Enjolras tugs at him just a little with the hand he has on his cheek. Grantaire's question is asked in the testing flex of his hips, sliding his cock up higher between Enjolras's spread thighs and almost, almost pressing against his entrance. Enjolras's answer is given in the way his lips shudder apart on an unsteady breath, the way his stomach tightens and his body rises up against Grantaire's, drawn once again by his gravitational pull. It's spoken in the hand Enjolras curls in the hair at the back of Grantaire's head, and the way he bends his neck so he can press his brow to Grantaire's and breathe his soft, gasping breaths into the space that's shared between them.

Grantaire's eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them again, there's another wordless question there. Enjolras answers him with the barest of nods, without breaking away, and Grantaire shifts his weight to one elbow so he can reach down with his other hand and adjust himself until the head of his cock is pressed to Enjolras's entrance and he's found the perfect angle.

He bears in slowly, despite the careful work he's done to prepare Enjolras. The stretch this time is glorious, aching in the best of ways. Enjolras tightens the hand he has in Grantaire’s hair, careful not to pull, just holding on while his body yields and adjusts to his presence inside him.

The light’s coming through the window at a different angle now. It gilds the side of his face and scrawls gold highlights across his curls. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him, and Enjolras can't look away.

There had been warmth and happiness and humor in Grantaire’s expression before. Now, there's overwhelming tenderness and love written in every line of his face, every angle of it. He's above Enjolras, over him so that Grantaire is all he can see, and it's perfect. He never wants to leave this moment.

Slowly, Grantaire seats himself in Enjolras, settled in to the hilt with his hips pressed to Enjolras’s, straining just a little as though even now, joined as completely as they can be, it's not enough.

Enjolras tips his head, tilting up a fraction to fit his mouth to Grantaire’s. The kiss slides instantly into something slick and deep and yearning. Grantaire's breath catches, his chest hitching with it, and his hips twitch forward. One hand gropes across the bed until he finds Enjolras's, and then he threads their fingers together and holds onto him, palm pressed to palm as they kiss and kiss, and he carefully begins to move in Enjolras.

The heat builds easily. It's already been stoked high to start with, and the friction and glide of Grantaire bearing into him and sliding back out turns the breath thick in Enjolras's throat and makes his skin warm until he feels incandescent with it.

Grantaire breaks from the kiss eventually, when an uneven stroke strikes an exquisite place within Enjolras and he tightens with a breathless moan, and Grantaire tears his mouth from Enjolras's to gasp against his collarbone, pleasure mounting in a cyclical cascade between them until it seems to great to be real.

Enjolras releases his grip on Grantaire's hair, then, and slides his hand down to spread across Grantaire's cheek. He holds him there, holds him back when he seems inclined to return and resume their kissing. And Enjolras wants it, but he wants this more: Grantaire, looking down at him, Enjolras looking back, watching each other -- _seeing_ each other -- as their pleasure mounts. Grantaire looks increasingly wild-eyed and desperate and so lovely, and his lips move on soundless words between each gasping breath.

They've made their home far from any mountains, but Enjolras saw a vid of an avalanche once as a child, all his ward-brothers and -sisters gathered around the same tiny screen to watch it with rapt fascination. It had seemed so peaceful to start, a brilliant blue sky and a stunning vista, a subtle crack in the pristine stretch of snow, the almost-lazy way it had begun to drift down the incline, the billows of snow rolling through the air that had looked soft as clouds -- and then chasing after it, the low, ominous rumble that built and grew and deepened into a roar as the avalanche bore down, racing now, inexorable, until all at once it overtook the 'screen and all was white and still and quiet.

This feels the way he thinks that avalanche must have, something that started quiet and slow and somehow built into this stunning, overwhelming, all-encompassing pleasure, so vast and so deep it feels like it'll swallow him whole and he'll never find his way out of it. It feels like the sort of thing he could drown in, could suffocate under. He grips Grantaire's hand tight and moves with him with every stroke, and every breath that he gasps out sounds like he's crying, or dying. But they're both already caught in the rolling tumble of it now, and there's nothing to do but hold on to each other and let it crash over them, let it sweep them away.

"R," he breathes, for the way it makes Grantaire's gaze burn brighter, for the way it makes his smile fierce. "R."

Grantaire rolls his hips forward, then rocks back and does it again. He untangles his fingers from Enjolras's and frees his hand, then reaches down with it to grasp Enjolras's cock in a firm grip. He strokes him in time with the movements of his hips and nuzzles happily against Enjolras's throat when it makes him loose a string of hazy profanity.

"Please," he says, and that, at least, he manages to speak clearly.

"Whatever you want." Grantaire noses against the soft, tender skin behind Enjolras's ear and scatters soft kisses across it. "Whenever you want it. Whenever you're ready."

It doesn't take much, not with Grantaire over him and in him, his hand warm and coaxing on him, his face so soft with love above him. He's luminous, and at the very end, Enjolras has no choice but to shut his eyes and to let it crash over him.

He comes powerfully, gasping and moaning and shuddering so hard it seems he might shake himself apart. Grantaire strokes him through it with a gentler grip and soft, coaxing movements, his face pressed to Enjolras's neck and his lips dotting kisses across his shoulder as he breathes words of praise and love and gratitude.

When Enjolras can remember how to move again, he lifts his hand and lays it lightly on Grantaire's chest. That's all the instruction he needs; as soon as he does so, Grantaire shifts above him, easing back and sliding out of him. Everything is abruptly overly sensitive and the slide and stretch of it makes him catch his breath.

He tucks two fingers beneath Grantaire's chin, tipping his face up to him. And then he reaches down with his other hand and takes Grantaire's cock in his grip and strokes him to his own completion, and watches his face through every moment of it.

There's something different about seeing him like this, when he has only his own pleasure to focus on, than there has been throughout the rest of the afternoon. There's something open and vulnerable about his expression, something almost fragile, like he's constantly taken by surprise that he could feel like this, that Enjolras could make him feel like this, that Enjolras would want to.

There's no bearing that thought at all. Enjolras makes his grip just a little tighter, twists his wrist just a little more on every upstroke, and he watches his face as Grantaire to pieces.

It's a glorious implosion. It's one of the most beautiful things Enjolras has ever seen, the way Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut and furrows his brow and presses his teeth into his lip -- and then lets himself go, all at once, lets the avalanche of it tear through him and comes in Enjolras's hand and against his stomach.

He collapses onto Enjolras, boneless all at once and still gasping like he's run halfway around the planet and then back again. Enjolras lazily laps the salt from his skin and shivers a little as Grantaire drags his fingers through the mess he's left on his belly, tracing aimless patterns across his skin.

Enjolras smiles to watch him, and isn't even startled to realize that every curve and angle and plane of his face seems precious and familiar to him now. He shuts his eyes and drifts on the easy lassitude that's overtaken him, and finds that he can no longer recall precisely where the break in Grantaire's nose had been, in the projection of himself that he'd designed for Feuilly.

The angle of the light through the window is getting shallow. Soon enough twilight will come and the sun will set and this moment that they got caught up in will be relegated to memory. But they still have the evening to themselves, and the night beyond it. Enjolras rolls in close against Grantaire and listens to the steadying cadence of his breathing and thinks that soon, they'll get up together and rise and make the most of it. But for now, this is the only place he wants to be.

**Author's Note:**

> You should definitely go read [Nell's half of this venture](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9395606), in which, when the going gets tough, the tough write irredeemable boat sex. It's fabulous.
> 
> I hoped this helped provide a diversion, if nothing else. And if there's anything else I can do to help, please know that the ask box on [my tumblr](http://samyazaz.tumblr.com) is always open, if you need to talk or rant or just scream with someone. Please keep yourselves as okay as you can. <3


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